theory of tides · · ·
by elleyvn
Summary: redux. the nights are dark, lonely and quiet and she is alone with her own thoughts—left to wonder at the gaping holes in her memory. at the faint scar across her wrist, faded with time; at the pale ring of skin around a finger of her left hand; devoid of any meaning. —au . sasusaku . kakasaku
1. prologue

_the wave always returns, and always returns as a different wave._

—

sakura never knew what hit her.

 _but that's a lie_. maybe sometimes, when she doesn't focus too sharply, she can manage to fool herself; it takes a smile often, more than not; a softly-spoken word to the neighbor down the way—she lives at least a mile down the road—but it always falls apart too easily.

it only takes a glimpse in the mirror, when the fog clears after a scalding shower. her fingertips dance across the bleary, red-eyed girl staring back at her, soaked to the bone; naked, and adorned with scars of her own making.

because it's never been anyone's fault but her own.

 _is that right?_ sakura doesn't question herself anymore—it makes her lies grow stale so much faster—but the faintest hint of doubt occupies a shadowy space in her thoughts.

the men's jacket hanging in her closet; the green toothbrush perched next to her purple; the old boots set beside her back door, they tell a different story. she finds herself staring down at them in the most noiseless of mornings, long after the shriek of the teapot has faded away to silence. she holds a lukewarm mug between her palms and the scent of chamomile wafts in the air, dusting pink cheeks before she turns away from the sight—from those shoes too large for her own feet. the movement is _abrupt._ she's lost.

 _who was there?_

certainly no one now. the loneliness festers like an open wound. it seeps bitterness and regret when she gets dressed in the morning; when she braids lengthy pink strands down her spine and offers her reflection a tired, sad little smile.

there are nights when sleep escapes her.

her bed, too big for one, threatens to swallow her alongside her nightmares—where faceless shadows haunt her every step. sakura makes a habit of wandering her hallways then, and now, the dusty wooden floors bear scuffs from her wool socks, when hours are wiled away pacing in the glow of a faded moon.

sakura stares at it, while her mind wanders beyond her station in the small cabin; beyond the ominous clouds that linger permanently on the horizon. years have passed since anyone has seen the bare, whole sun; without the cover of thick, heavy mist. _maybe it's had an effect on more than just her._ she wonders at the slowing of time; at the quiet of the market in the city, the hush of the temples on the hills, the empty hospital nurseries. the wail of a newborn is a foreign concept; the laugh of a child even more so.

pale, slender fingers wander south, across the flat plane of her belly and absently, she supposes she might've liked one, someday.

 _maybe it'd lighten the weight of the silence._

.

.

.

it is in the glare of the stark, cold sun that she exits her home for the last time. she toes her sandals on, gathers her waist-length hair into a loose bun at her nape, and steps onto the silvery sands. the beach, no more than a stone's throw from her front porch, greets her with a steadily loudening roar.

from one breath to the next, sakura glances over her shoulder. the desolate lighthouse at her back, with its warmly lit glow circling 'round the bay, stands as sentry and witness to her every stride.

the sprinkling of saltwater on her collarbone; the dangerous lapping of cold water at her ankles, then her knees and thighs, soaking into the wispy white fabric of her dress, barely rouses her from her own musings. she'd left the coffee maker on.

of all the things to recall, it is _this_ —a lonely red button left untapped on her kitchen counter—that slows her steady pace.

there are things unfinished. dishes to wash, socks to darn; a home left abandoned by its sole occupants. though truthfully, sakura had tasted neglect long before she ventured outside her front door.

she swallows the taste of decayed hope lingering in the back of her throat; the knot threatening to choke her on her next inhalation. her toes dig hard into the wet, shifting sands beneath her feet; a vain resistance against the pull of the waves. her arms hang uselessly at her sides, fingers curled against her hips. only then does she cast a look to the heavens. obscured, the light shining past is barely enough to warrant a squint. the breeze, scented with brine, provides a greater sense of comfort than even she expects.

a surprise, yes. _but a welcome one._

the knick-knacks left on the shore—her shoes, her seafoam hat, _her wedding band_ —would continue to exist without their owner; her coffee maker would turn itself off eventually.

the ghosts living in her house would find another poor soul to haunt.

with that last consideration, sakura takes another step forward; takes one last, solitary breath of that salty september air—

 _and falls into oblivion._


	2. the lion sun

_they could have been teasing the lion sun,_  
 _except that now he was behind them_  
 _—a sun who'd walked the beach the last low tide. _  
_"the end of march" elizabeth bishop_

.

"good morning— "

her fingers curl into the thin, knit fabric pooled around her hips—swathed as she is in layers of mint, sakura registers the cold with bone-aching clarity. it is _crisp_ and unforgiving; it works well in her clinical surroundings, with the smell of antiseptic hanging in the air. the window itself, tucked against the far well, is clouded—speckled with rain from the onslaught of a midnight storm.

from the corner of her eye, she watches the petite figure draw shadows across the wall. yamanaka ino stands at her bedside and stares down; wearing a gentle smile and her hands on her hips. " _ah_ , you're already awake."

her voice echoes in the silence, and sakura has never seen any need to respond.

never, for as long as she remembers _never to be_ , that is.

pink strands are brushed back by foreign fingers; clipped nails scrapping softly against her scalp—she doesn't know if it's purposeful, or if the blonde simply is paying more attention to the click of the pen in her other hand; she scribbles notes in the margin, humming softly under her breath, " _mou…_ sakura-chan, you should let us know next time."

she chides, and sakura watches her tick off a box or two before she sets her clipboard aside and allows both hands to fall harmlessly to her sides. and there she goes, with a look of anticipation—as if the lost memories will resurface today, _this very minute_.

as if sakura can make them.

for the first time that morning, sakura parts her lips to speak; a voice laden in sleep slipping out to fill the expectant silence, "can i have some water… please?"

even to her own ears, she sounds timid; lost, like a child on a stormy night.

it isn't all that different, she supposes. the nights are dark, lonely and quiet; she is alone with her own thoughts—left to wonder at the gaping holes in her memory; at the faint but aching scar across her wrist, faded with time; at the pale ring of skin around a finger of her left hand—distinct in its differences yet devoid of meaning.

much like her name; granted by the kind ladies that tend to her in the mornings.

their kindness extended even beyond that; from the moment she'd washed up on shore among pieces of driftwood and old suitcases. the sea had been kind enough that day to spare her life; but not enough to return what it took.

 _it's been two weeks._

sakura can't say she's any worse for being an amnesiac. phantom pains without clear origin plague her body; her heart swells with the tide, and shrivels in the dark.

before ino can protest, she rises from her bed. it is a humble twin set against the wall of a room of the local inn. outside the small window, she watches the sun climb into the sky for a moment too long—aware of the bright eyes trained on her face, but reluctant to face them. the emotion scribed inside leaves her gasping for air, more often than not.

a glass finds its way into her outstretched hands, and she peers down to watch ice cubes dance across the surface; her hands rattle in the cold—a pink-tipped thumb slides over the edge before she takes a drink and releases a long, soft sigh, "thank you."

the silence that follows is enough to draw her attention back to her sole companion; where she finds ino watching her with something akin to excitement now; her blue eyes twinkle in the morning light, her hand skitters across sakura's forearm, before she gives a soft tug.

"you have a visitor, sakura-chan."

 **ii.**

.

 _he's a beautiful boy._

this is the first thought to cross her mind when sakura enters the tiny receiving room. he sits alone at a round table, clasping a teacup between his fingertips with all the grace of a prince. the comparison doesn't quite reach beyond that, though. his thumb is calloused, his eyes dark and wary—

he has a single arm.

"uchiha-san, this is sakura." ino chirps from somewhere over her shoulder, and a hand gently curls around her forearm. the sound of a teapot whistling from a door or two away draws her ear, but sakura's gaze remains fixed on the stranger; on the minute twitch of his thumb across the porcelain as he turns to regard her.

when he speaks, his voice clears the quiet in a way sakura hasn't appreciated for as long as she's been folded away in that tiny creek-side inn. "Aa," his single hand grips the edge of the table, bracing his weight as he rises to his feet. as if enjoying a private joke, the stranger—as she's taken to calling him—quirks his lip.

the expression isn't a smile, nor a frown, but something indecipherable; stuck between the two.

sakura stares.

"who are you?" she murmurs the question, resisting the urge to fidget as he lingers outside of reach—as though circling 'round a bubble she can't see. all the same, she can smell him—ash and rain, _campfires and caverns_.

the frayed edges of his coat tell a story; one hinted in his hesitation to answer. his lips part, testing a time or two before he finally speaks, "sasuke."

his eyes hold _more_ than a flicker of recognition; in them, she can see a lifetime _or two_ , and perhaps one of those are hers—but she doesn't care enough to ask. instead, sakura dances around the question, making loops until she comes to speak again, without thought.

"are you here for me?"

he smiles again, seemingly considering it. though really, it isn't a smile of happiness, but of relief, and even she can tell when he takes a single step forward, "yes." sasuke, the stranger, says, hesitating.

and forgotten ino, _beautiful and willful ino_ , comes around again to her peripheral with crossed arms and a dismayed look, "so eager to leave us, sakura-chan? you're not going anywhere until you can take care of yourself properly."

there's little point in arguing. sakura offers a shrug before she wanders to take the seat opposite of sasuke's abandoned teacup.

"of course."

though already, she feels the tug of the unknown beyond the walls of her new existence. the sky, sunless and starless, tease outside the window, where weeping willows stand in the still evening. only when she glances away from the sight does she spot the old camera hanging off her chair by a worn strap.

tentatively, she scoops it into her hands and inspects the cracked lens—

her reflection, distorted, blinks back.

"you can still take pictures with it." comes that voice; a low timbre that warms her ears. she looks at him, as he stands there with his arm tucked into the folds of his overcoat. the outline of his other, a stump attached to a broad shoulder, stands in sharp contrast.

it's yet another question she chooses not to ask.

quietly, sakura lifts the viewfinder to eye-level. her thumb winds the wheel; her index pulls the trigger—

and the stranger is bathed in sepia light.

 _click._

 **iii.**

.

"where will you take me?"

she hardly speaks, half the time. sasuke finds himself filling the empty gaps in their new conversations with snippets from their old ones; a soft laugh, an absent hum—the frustrated growl that'd escape from time to time when things weren't going her way.

now, she abides even the most irritating situations with bemused patience.

when ino had come storming in at six in the morning with a brush, comb and some conditioner, he'd expected a battle of wills. instead, he'd watched as sakura merely scooted forward and sipped her lukewarm tea. the blonde slipped behind her, and proceeded to attack the mass of tangles at the base of her neck.

 _now_ , she resembles the woman he'd imagined her to be, instead of the girl he'd known so long ago.

and he realizes he hasn't yet answered her question.

"we'll follow the shoreline."

a winding but steady path through the sea-side forests, above the cliffs—a march to the past, perhaps. sasuke considers this, considers her for a long moment; again, she bears his gaze with little more than an absent shuffle of her feet, scuffing the toes of her boots on the asphalt. "okay."

his attention flitters to the woman huffing her way down the footpath. at her back stands the bed and breakfast, and in her arms, a sack tied just barely at the neck, "hey, not so fast! you're not leaving without this." without waiting for a response, she nudges the pack onto sakura's shoulders and traces a finger along her neatly braided hair. he'd have to get used to seeing it longer.

"this place is always here if you want to come back." – _if you don't find anything out there_. the blonde mumbles the words, but her gaze is steel; aimed at him with unerring accuracy, "keep her safe."

 _it's an unnecessary order, if anything._

nevertheless, he nods and watches her shoulders slump in relief, before she looks between them one last time and disappears behind a softly closed door.

"we should start moving, before it gets dark."

surprisingly, it's sakura that breaks the silence. as she passes him, cradling an elbow in each palm, she offers a side-long glance and a barely-there tilt of her mouth. his fingertips _itch_ for the briefest of moments; his hand lifts to hang in the air before he drops it to his side; unseen by the petite figure disappearing into the fog.

he allows himself to trail behind her this time, treading on the smaller footprints that her boots leave behind.


	3. in loving memory

_my quietness has a man in it, he is transparent_  
 _and he carries me quietly, like a gondola, through the streets._  
 _he has several likenesses, like stars and years, like numerals._  
 _"in memory of my feelings" frank o'hara_

 ** _iv._**

.

.

.

at first, sakura wiles away the hours with an old crossword book rolled into a pocket in her bag. ino, in all her thoughtfulness, had forgotten a pen—so she finds herself with one of sasuke's; an expensive looking ballpoint with a stranger's name engraved in the side.

it only makes her wonder; what sort of life had he led, before he began drifting along the shores? sasuke makes his bed on the other side of the campfire, and before long, the soft hush of his breath deepens and slows, until sakura is certain he's asleep. in the warm glow of the fire, she inspects the scratched pen in her grasp, turning it this way and that before tucking it between the pages of her half-finished puzzle.

it's set to the side, left half-hidden beneath the corner of her sleeping bag.

her palms sink into the grass, catching dewdrops between her fingers as she crawls to his side. there, she sits on her calves and observes the dozing man—"sasuke…?"

sakura longs for the sleep that comes to him so easily. even after a full day spent walking along highways, cresting hills and traversing valleys, she struggles for a few scant hours of oblivion.

 _some part of her wants to ruin his._

it also makes her want to crawl into his sleeping bag and draw some of his heat away—some of the _peace_ he seems to find behind his eyelids.

"sasuke."

 _"hm?"_

it's too bold. but it's also _too late_ —dark eyes flutter, brows furrowing before he opens his eyes and gazes up at her. sasuke shifts to face her fully, his lone arm supporting him while he glances warily around the small clearing. "what is it?"

his confusion shows so starkly that she feels bad for waking him. her teeth sink into her lower lip, as she nudges him onto his back—a hand resting softly on his shoulder.

"it's nothing. sleep."

 _wrong move._

in his usual way, sasuke discards words in favor of actions—this time, instead of a nod; a shake of his head; or _that strange little quirk of his lips_ , he curls his fingers into her sleeve and _pulls_. sakura lands somewhere between his shoulder and his jaw, cradled in a hold that somehow feels _complete_.

"you haven't been sleeping." he states softly, yet with enough certainty that sakura finds herself nodding without thought, settling against his side and laying a hand on his arm. it's a simple comfort he offers; a sanctuary from the void of her own thoughts.

but suddenly, she has room for her weariness and it digs bone-deep.

his hand wanders the expanse of her back, rubbing gentle circles until her eyelids grow heavy.

sasuke staring thoughtfully into the treetops with those dark, _dark_ eyes is the last thing sakura sees before she gives into the call of sleep.

- **x.**

.

.

.

" _hello, sunshine_."

calloused fingers card through her hair; a thumb slides along the curve of her temple, willing her awake with gentle persistence. her lashes catch on the whorls of his thumb-tips. and sakura opens her eyes to the sight and sounds _of morning_ —to bluebirds singing and thoughtful humming so very _near_. without thought, she lifts a hand to seek the warmth at her side—

tangled in slate sheets, her husband— _brand new_ , he almost seems; save for the history etched into his skin—laces and locks their hands, knuckle to knuckle.

she could almost cry, for the way her heart swells.

his voice echoes in the quiet, drawing away the veil of dreams until her eyes open to see him; tucked somewhere between the valley of her breasts—ear pressed to her heartbeat, as if he belongs there _and nowhere else_.

no arguments there.

" _hmm, did I wake you?_ " he drawls, with a squeeze to her captured fingers. sakura nods, with a tied-tongue and a silly twitch of her lips. deliriously, she wonders if maybe the illusion will break, if she dares to speak. the fragile scene tempts her into silence, for fear and appreciation all at once.

after a moment, she decides to take her chances, "good morning, kakashi."

with her greeting, her spine arches lightly off the bed while she stretches. he moves to accommodate her with little more than a lazy smile. the expression crinkles the scar over his left eye, producing a sleepy wink that has her leaning forward. softly, she presses a kiss to his eyelid, ignoring the tickle of silvery lashes on her lips.

the gesture only seems to magnify his amusement—drawing a deep, earthy chuckle that makes her toes curl, " _I'm afraid you missed, sakura_." and to prove his point, kakashi rises. the hand not gripping hers braces his weight, and the warmth of his mouth meets hers—

she can _feel_ his smile this time.

" _I'll forgive you, this time_."

he speaks against her lips, teasing her forward with fleeting kisses and unspoken promises. the allure of morning glory—pleasure and connection—sends her pulse fluttering wildly; a reaction he measures with a palm pressed to her sternum, fingers splayed across soft, freckled skin.

her cheeks warm, strawberry lashes flickering shut. the blush sprawls over her face, reaching to touch her ears as he makes to kiss the lobe, laughingly.

her husband is always in good humor, it seems.

"is this funny to you?" the accusation slips out as nothing more than a distracted murmur, and is rendered useless by the answering smile playing upon her mouth. her fingers wrap 'round his broad shoulders, welcoming his body to lie on her—hips between her thighs. the thundering of her heart threatens to pull her under. . .

until she realizes that the thundering is really two hearts, moving as one; the excitement is contagious—

his breath hitches against her temple.

 _"hardly."_ he exhales, rocking gently as his arms move to envelop her; lifting her from the mattress to be swallowed whole in his embrace. only then, does his offhanded tone give way to something deeper; darker in hue but _vivid_ with an intensity she can only tie _to him_.

and if she didn't hear him the first time, she hears it again and again in the minutes to follow; uttered like a mantra against her throat

her collarbones

the crook of her elbow

the inside of her thigh.

 _"god, I love you."_ he says, and even if she were to forget her own name—

she will remember that.

 ** _v._**

.

.

.

 _he'd never been the type to fidget._

if anything, it had been itachi who was prone to the habit; often when his mind was moving too fast for his body to follow—and that was the case, most of the time—or something simply had him vexed.

now, it's sasuke that toys with the fraying hem of his coat when he's thinking; that clicks his pen when he's impatient. it's the former that he engages in during the mornings, when sakura is preoccupied and they've no particular place to be.

most mornings, she prefers to sit and watch the faded outline of the sunrise beyond the clouds.

this time, she's still asleep—tucked against him tight to ward off the chill. he accepts her warmth, curling long strands of her hair around his fingertips. he only moves to pull her closer when she shivers; when she burrows a little deeper and releases a soft hum. sasuke watches as she smiles in her sleep; pressing her face into the crease of his coat while gripping him tighter.

it's a sight more welcome than he cares to admit.

he shifts before he thinks, inspecting the shift of her features with something akin to fascination. she is beautiful, in an unconventional way—with freckled cheeks and a broad forehead—but he finds himself staring nevertheless; drawing his finger down the bridge of her nose. her eyes, though dulled with time and experience, still leave him speechless from time to time—

when it seems as if she sees _everything_ that he tries to hide.

her lips part.

and her murmured words are too faint to hear at first, but as he leans in to listen—let it never be said that he wasn't a curious man—sasuke stops short.

 _ah._

his wandering mind, caught in the haze of morning, finds surprise for only a moment before logic takes merciless hold and shakes him awake.

it's only natural that a wife should call after her husband.

softly, he tugs himself from her embrace—with blunt, calloused fingertips and hushing sounds to keep her in the thrall of her dreams. and all the while, something in his chest aches for the little girl he once knew—for the bright green eyes that watched him so longingly, while he chased his brother's coattails.

he says nothing as he tucks the edges of his coat beneath her prone form; watching her grasp for warmth abruptly _missing_. his fingers run over his face to wipe away the last remnants of sleep, before he rises to clean their small campsite and re-ignite the forgotten fire at its center.

" _aniki_ ," he speaks to the ground; to the memory of a gravestone tucked beside his father's old house. "what am I doing?"

the silence is his only answer. the cold ache of a phantom pain moving up his shoulder draws his thoughts away before long, and sasuke allows it—if only to focus on the physical pain instead of _what haunts every step taken with the likes of haruno sakura_.


	4. moondust

_the brightness of the sun will give me just enough_ _  
_ _to bury my love—in the moondust_ _  
_ _i long to hear your voice, but still i make the choice_ _  
_ _to bury my love—in the moondust_ _  
"moondust" jaymes young_

 **vi**.

.

.

.

"did something happen while i was asleep?" curiously, sakura watches him wander from end to end of their little campsite, his empty sleeve fluttering in the breeze. restless in a chill too bitter for her to leave her covers behind. instead, she sits up and pulls them around her shoulders and shivers as the winds roll stronger off the ocean, rusting leaves from the branches overhead.

sasuke is silhouetted in the brilliance of an autumn sunrise, and she finds herself rendered speechless for the better part of the morning. he is stunning in his own right; a shadow come to life with form and breath—generous with what little warmth he has to offer.

 _she is far from stupid._

there is an edge to his every turn; his boots scuff the ground when he walks. he hasn't touched their small breakfast, beyond a tentative spoonful of the oats she'd boiled over the fire.

"sasuke?"

he doesn't hear her either.

when she rises to her feet, taking a brief moment to brush away stray leaves clinging to her coat, it is with a task in mind—to fetch herself something to drink from the nearby ground-springs—one that quickly falls to the wayside when she finds herself the sudden object of his attention.

"why did you come with me?"

his question seems to appear from thin air and to vanish into the same nothingness from which it emerged. there is no anger in his eyes, no stiffness to his form, save for the absent flexing of his fingers. sakura watches them for a minute, focusing on the bend of his knuckles; the curve of his nail; and the faint bit of dirt visible beneath the edge.

she realizes she's biting her lip. pain lances through the delicate skin, a dull throb that draws her back to the present. her fingertips sting in the chill as she reaches up to rub her mouth, pressing thoughtfully into the soft skin. it itches for balm, crinkling beneath her fingertips—

 _oh, he's waiting._

"i wanted to." the words feel nothing like her own. her lips move, but the voice that fills the silence belongs to a stranger, sakura thinks—because she doesn't know why she chose to come with him. every moment spent with sasuke brings more confusion than it brings clarity. "i just wanted to."

"why?" he fires back, crossing his single arm over his chest. it's an incomplete gesture, sakura thinks. odd, for a man that seems to think so deeply about everything he does.

"i needed to get away. i love ino, but i needed to be outside."

the admission revives the heaviness in chest tenfold, steals the ease with which she takes her next breath. suddenly, she wants nothing more than to lay down—to assuage the faint sense of guilt pooling 'round her feet like rising waters.

"you could've left on your own. you haven't needed me this entire time." he snaps into the quiet. the hiss of his voice draws a stutter forth; a hitch in her pulse that stops her short of speaking. she peers into the treetops for a clue of how to proceed, watching the few leaves left on the branches sway in the morning breeze.

"you offered to take me away."

sasuke, strange sasuke, looks to deflate—shoulders curling in on themselves, head dipped to obscure his face behind his hair.

"so i did." he murmurs to himself, then turns on his heel to begin packing their sleeping bags.

after that, silence takes hold and remains, an invisible grip on her throat.

 **vii**.

.

.

the ferry arrives an hour late.

it ducks between the shadows of neighboring islands, a faint outside in front of the sun. the journey it makes is a protracted one, bobbing along the waves until it nears the docks jutting from the shore. sakura watches in quiet fascination as a figure appears from behind fogged windows—shaggy blonde hair whipped about by the winds—and unfurls an anchor into the water.

the ocean swallows it whole.

sakura watches it sink, before her attention is forcibly drawn to the sun-lit man jumping onto the dock. with quick steps, he closes the distance and throws his hands out at his sides. "hey!"

her companion remains unmoving, his bag hanging limply from his fingertips—she averts her eyes when his gaze flitters to her, pretends to be fixated on something else.

to his credit, the ferryman makes it easy. he flashes a brilliant smile, and sakura blinks at the sight of whiskers tattooed upon his cheeks."what're you waitin' for? the end of the world?"

as sasuke releases a soft sound—a snort, she swears—the stranger seems to pause, glancing around with bright, curious eyes. his hand moves to scratch the back of his head as his expression turns puzzled.

"where's everyone else?"

his focus shifts to her as he asks, pinning her beneath a stare she can only describe as clear.

his eyes are clearer than the skies, than the waters, than all the air between.

"it's only us." she manages on an exhale, habitually lacing her fingers through the strap of her bag. in one movement, she slings it across her shoulder and takes a step forward. "how much do you charge?"

the ferryman runs a hand through his hair, smoothing over the wind-blown strands. all the while, his eyes flick back and forth between them, gauging. she can only guess at the processes taking place—the minute calculations that result in his answer, slipped between a dismissive wave of his hand and a quiet laugh, "we'll figure it out when we get there."

"you don't know where we're going." sasuke counters, shifting his weight. after a day spent with nothing but her thoughts, his absent-minded mutterings prompt a sidelong glance—wasted as it is.

he's preoccupied with the ferryman, watching him with thinly veiled skepticism.

"look, i don't really give a damn. it's been months since i've had a fare— _anywhere_." his hand settles on the back of his neck, rubbing idly at what must be a sore spot, given how he grimaces a time or two—"i'd welcome the company any day. doesn't seem like there's many people left out here."

sakura thinks to protest, but she hasn't seen a soul other than sasuke since they left ino. instead, she presses her lips together and inspects the chipped remains of polish on her toenails _."you like this color don't you, sakura-chan? everything else clashes with your hair."_

"fine," sasuke sighs after too many moments spent in the quiet, taking a step toward the waiting ferry. "we'll discuss our destination once we're on board."

his sleeve brushes her as he passes, cool and empty.

the ferryman rolls his eyes, before his attention shifts to her with a tentative smile, "well—" he holds out his hand, and it wraps easily around hers when she reaches out.

—swallows it whole until she can only catch glimpses of her skin between his tanned fingers.

"i'm naruto."

- **xv**.

.

.

"give everything to sasuke."

"wait, we don't have to talk about this right now. there's always tomorrow, dear."

their voices filter into the hallway; tight with concern, heavy with fear. the only thing he imagines then is the overflowing of secrets past the levees of locked doors and closed curtains, rolling along the walls like the tide on the shore—ever-rising, all-compassing.

he isn't ready for it to take him under, but there it is anyways. maybe if he had been twelve again, his mother might not have left itachi's door ajar. maybe they would've had this talk when he was at school.

"i'm dying, mother. there is no other time." a chuckle, soft and stilted—playful, one could say.

but sasuke is fifteen now—not twelve—and the years have made his mother and brother lazy in their secret-keeping.

he watches, through the crack in the door, as itachi is overcome by a coughing fit—his body seizing as he struggles to draw air into his overtaxed lungs. his hand fumbles blindly for the tissue box on his nightstand before it's grasped by slender fingers, held while his lips are blotted with an embroidered handkerchief.

the cloth comes away red and sticky.

he can hear the cacophony of his own thoughts—the sound of every childhood fear coming to painful fruition.

itachi is _sick_.

and unreasonable as it is, sasuke feels the winding of illness through his bloodstream. a nameless bile on his tongue, a colorless stain on his skin. leaving the scene behind him, he ducks into the bathroom and closes the door before emptying the contents of his lunch into the sink. he spits _acid_ , turns on the faucet and drowns out the heat lingering underneath his eyes with splashes of cold water.

 _itachi is dying._

and there is no amount of tears that will save him.

still, he cries.


End file.
